


Into the light

by bethejerktomybitch



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Childbirth, Erebor Reclaimed, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Marriage Proposal, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Quest of Erebor, Pregnancy, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 22:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12142536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethejerktomybitch/pseuds/bethejerktomybitch
Summary: You should’ve known.That is what you keep telling yourself afterwards. Thorin’s kiss before he left to join the battle felt too much like a kiss goodbye, too much like it was sealing his fate. It felt too much like a last kiss.You should’ve known.





	Into the light

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Hobbit fic and also the first reader insert I've ever written, so I hope you enjoy it. I simply couldn't stop myself from writing Thorin a happy end after watching all the Hobbit movies thrice in one week and crying every time. Enjoy the read and feedback is much appreciated!

You should’ve known.

 

That is what you keep telling yourself afterwards. Thorin’s kiss before he left to join the battle felt too much like a kiss goodbye, too much like it was sealing his fate. It felt too much like a last kiss.

 

You should’ve known.

 

* * *

 

 

The hours of the battle are torture.

 

You try to busy yourself by setting up a makeshift infirmary in one of the great halls, but that only takes you a little over two hours and so you’re left with nothing to do but worry. From outside you can hear screams, the sound of metal clashing against metal and the by now all too familiar screeches of orcs.

 

Thorin and Kili and Fili and Bilbo and all the others are out there, out there in this mess of blades and arrows and blood, and you try to assure yourself that they are great fighters, they will be alright, but all you can think about is the dream you had last night. The picture is still fresh inside your mind – Thorin, his blue eyes staring without seeing anything, a sword buried deep inside his chest.

 

You pray to all the gods you know that you will never have to see him like this, that he will make it back to you like he promised he would. You are not sure if you believe in the power of prayer, but it is the only thing you can think of.

 

* * *

 

 

The sounds of the battle silence and then people start streaming into the mountain, dwarves and elves and humans alike. You look for familiar faces in the sea of weary and bloody fighters, anyone who might have seen Thorin, but you don’t see any and so you desperately start asking anyone who looks like he’s still able to talk.

 

“Did you see Thorin? Did you see the king? Is he alright?”

 

The only answer you get is a tired shaking of heads and you force yourself to take slow, steady breaths. Panicking isn’t going to do anyone any good, and it isn’t going to bring Thorin back faster. There’s nothing you can do to do that; however, there is something you can do to help.

 

You start tending to the wounded. There are plenty and many of them are too far gone for you to help them. You have to fight back tears more than once and your gaze keeps flickering towards the entrance, looking for familiar blue eyes. Still, you keep going. It’s the only way you can keep sane in the midst of all this chaos.

 

* * *

 

 

The boy you are treating is young, twenty at most. There is a gaping hole in his chest and all you can do is hold his hand when he takes his last breath. You turn away with tears burning in your eyes.

 

That is when you see him.

 

But he is not walking in like you thought he would, a smile lighting up his face when he sees you. Instead, he is being carried in by Fili and Kili. They look worn and devastated but they carry him high above their shoulders, a mixture of pride and pain on their faces – their fallen leader, their fallen king.

 

His face is turned towards you. It is pale and unmoving and covered in blood and that is when a scream pierces the air. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you are the one screaming.

 

“Thorin! Thorin, no! Please, no, no, Thorin!”

 

Your knees give in and you sink to the floor, letting out desperate and ugly sobs. Your chest feels like it’s about to burst with pain. The picture of Thorin’s face is burned into the inside of your eyelids, haunting you and leaving you gasping for air.

 

A hand finds your shoulder and someone pulls you up, arms wrapping around you. You don’t even have the strength to resist. “I’m sorry, lass.” Balin murmurs, his voice thick with pain and grief. “I know what he meant to you. But he died a hero. He killed Azog and saved Kili’s and Fili’s life. “

 

Your heart clenches with pain. It doesn’t matter to you if he died a hero. You only ever wanted him to come back to you. “He promised.” you press out between sobs. “He promised he’d come back.”

 

Balin pats your back. “I’m sorry.” he says again. All you can think is one thing.

 

You should have known.

 

* * *

 

 

Fili’s voice rises over the cries of the wounded. It’s hoarse and shaking but it doesn’t crack as he says: “Bow to our fallen leader, Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain! May his soul find peace in the halls of Mandos!”

 

You twist out of Balin’s hold. You can’t do this. It’s too much. He shouts something after you, but all you hear is a faint buzzing. You don’t stay to let him repeat it. Instead, you run. You run until you’re out of that godforsaken mountain that reminds you of Thorin wherever you look.

 

Once outside, your knees give in and you throw up the meager contents of your stomach. When your gagging finally subsides, you bury your head in your hands and simply breathe. That seems enough of a task for now.

 

The air is sharp and cold and it clears your head. An idea starts forming in your mind.

 

You can’t stay for what’s going to come next. Festivities, Fili’s coronation, the rebuilding of Erebor, and above all, Thorin’s funeral. You simply can’t do it. So that leaves you with one option.

 

Your gaze wanders to the outline of the Misty Mountains you can see far, far away. You don’t know what’s out there, have never even been out of the tiny village you grew up in before you joined the quest to retake Erebor, but anything’s better than staying.

 

* * *

 

 

You leave before dawn the next day.

 

You only take what you brought when you joined, and a handful of golden coins to take you through the first few weeks. You don’t think anyone will mind, or even notice.

 

You don’t say your goodbyes to anyone, not even Fili and Kili. They would try to convince you to stay, and you would probably let them. But there is no place for you here anymore, not without Thorin.

 

You don’t look back.

 

* * *

 

 

Your son is born eight months later in a town just south of Mirkwood. Your bear the pain silently, alone in your room in some run-down inn, because it is nothing compared to the pain you live with every day.

 

You cry when you wrap him in a blanket and hold him in your arms and nurse him. His eyes are an all too familiar shade of blue when he looks at you and there’s a shock of dark hair on his head. Your heart aches with grief and longing.

 

You briefly consider naming him after his father, but you decide against it. You can barely speak his name as it is; your son shouldn’t have to bear that burden.

 

You name him Frerin instead. You think Thorin would have liked that.

 

* * *

 

 

You decide to settle in that town.

 

It’s small enough to not be obvious, in case the others should try to look for you, but big enough to grant you anonymity. You quickly find work as a healer and you make more than enough money to support you and Frerin.

 

You also find a nice elderly woman named Ylva who agrees to watch Frerin while you are working. She doesn’t ask why there is no father in the picture, or why a woman who is obviously half dwarvish is in that town in the first place. She only smiles and offers her help, and you suspect from the understanding look in her eyes that she has lost someone too.

 

* * *

 

 

You see a dwarf for the first time since you left Erebor when Frerin is five months old.

 

It’s no one you know, but you still press Frerin closer to you and scurry away. You don’t want to risk the others finding you and finding out about your son – who is, technically, the rightful heir to the throne under the mountain. You don’t want him to be caught up in this mess, to grow up with Thorin’s shadow looming over everything.

 

You may have your every waking thought occupied by Thorin’s ghost, but that doesn’t mean your son has to.

 

* * *

 

 

Four weeks later, you are on your way to Ylva’s house, carrying Frerin on your hip, when you stop dead in you tracks. There, in front of the inn you first took up residence in, Balin and Dwalin are standing, quietly talking to each other.

 

You feel like you’ve just been thrown back into the past. You know you should turn around and leave before they spot you, but you’re frozen in place, paralyzed by the memories surfacing inside of you.

 

Frerin starts wailing on your hip and that is what alerts them to your presence. Their eyes widen when they see you and they cross the distance between you in a matter of seconds. Still, you can’t move.

 

Balin gives you a warm smile. “So you are really here, Y/N.” he says. “It is so good to see you…” His gaze finds Frerin who has stopped crying and is now looking at the two dwarfs as if trying to assess them. The old dwarf gasps. “Is that…?” he asks incredulously.

 

You finally find your voice again. “Yes.” you say weakly. “It is.”

 

It takes Balin a few seconds to recover, but then his smile returns and he gestures towards the inn. “There is someone in there who wants to see you.” he says and grabs your arm. “He will want to know about your little one too.”

 

He leads you to the inn and you follow him without protest. You feel strangely detached, as if this isn’t really happening. You wonder who Balin is talking about. Fili, maybe. He is king under the mountain now and you always were close; maybe he came looking for you. And naturally, he would want to know about Frerin.

 

You follow Balin into the inn to one of the private rooms, Dwalin directly behind you, as if he fears you will run away. There is only one person inside, a dark haired dwarf, and when he turns, your heart stops in your chest.

 

Countless different emotions wash over you at once. Shock, pain, grief, desperation, longing, disbelief, love. Frerin starts crying in your arms and you cling to him as if he’s your lifeline. You gasp.

 

“That’s not… that’s not possible.” you whisper. “You’re dead. I saw your body.”  

 

A small smile tugs at the corners of Thorin’s mouth and he takes a step towards you. You take a step back.

 

This is not real, you tell yourself. This is a cruel, taunting dream and when you wake up, it’s going to be all the more painful. You can’t allow yourself to hope, no matter how real this seems, how real he seems.

 

When he speaks, his voice reverberates in every fiber of your body. You haven’t even realized how much you missed that sound until now. “I’m not dead, amralime. I nearly was, but the Elven healers brought me back from the brink of death. When I woke up, you had vanished and no one knew where you had gone.”

 

His face softens and he gives you a small, sad smile. Your hands start to tremble. “I tried to find you, love.” he says quietly. “I really did. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

 

Slowly, very slowly, a small flame of hope flickers on inside your chest. You have heard about the wonders elvish healing can do. Can it really be?

 

You take in Thorin’s appearance. He looks different from how you remember him. His face is hardened in a way it wasn’t before and there are a few grey streaks in his dark hair and that is what finally convinces you. He is real. He is here. He is alive.

 

A sob forces its way out of your mouth. “Thorin.” you say. His name tastes bittersweet in your mouth. “You’re alive. You’re here.”

 

He smiles again. “I am. And I don’t plan on leaving you ever again.”

 

For a while there is silence as you force your tears back and gently begin rocking Frerin, who’s still bawling his eyes out. “It’s alright, dear.” you whisper. “Mama’s here. Everything’s alright.”

 

There’s a mess of emotions of Thorin’s face when he looks at you two. You can tell that he’s fighting for words and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this unsure. “Is that…?” he begins but his voice cracks and he swallows before he goes on. “Is that… my son?”

 

You can only nod. Thorin hesitates and then he asks: “What’s his name?”

 

Your voice is barely more than a faint whisper when you answer. “Frerin.”

 

Emotions flash across his face in quick succession. Grief, disbelief, pride and then something that you think might me happiness. He stretches out his arms carefully, as if he thinks you’ll spook if he moves to quickly. “Can I hold him?” he asks quietly.

 

You wordlessly hand him your son and to your surprise, Frerin stops crying almost immediately. He reaches out with his tiny hand and touches Thorin’s beard, letting out a small giggle. “Hello, little guy.” Thorin whispers hoarsely.

 

There are tears glittering in his blue eyes. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him cry and that is what finally makes your already fragile composure break. Tears start streaming down your face, some for all the time that you could’ve spent together but lost because you ran without looking back, but most of them tears of pure relief, because finally, impossibly, your family is united.

 

Thorin wraps his free arm around you and pulls you against his chest. You throw your arms around him and breathe in his scent. He smells like home. You can smell Frerin’s sweet scent too and you think that you could stay like this forever.

 

“Come home with me, amralime.” Thorin murmurs into your hair.

 

There is nothing you can do but say yes.

 

* * *

 

 

Three weeks later, you do what you thought you would never do again – you enter Erebor.

 

Thorin is at your side, his hand firmly clasped around yours. Frerin is asleep in his arms. He looks impossibly tiny compared to his father’s bulky frame, but you have seen how gentle Thorin’s hands get when he touches his son. You never thought a warrior could even be this gentle.

 

The dwarves you pass eye you with half-surprised, half-confused gazes. Most of them probably don’t know you who you are, and they are wondering what you’re doing with the king and what the king is doing with a baby in his arms.

 

You follow Thorin in a daze, too caught up by everything around you to really pay attention to the gazes. Erebor is nothing like you remember it. It’s magnificent, everything the stories ever said it would be, and you can’t believe that this is only the work of a little over a year. “It’s beautiful.” you say reverently.

 

“It is.” Thorin agrees. He’s looking at you.

 

Before you can answer, a voice calls out. “Uncle! You’re back!”

 

Fili comes to a halt in front of you, followed by his younger brother. They both look older, but not in a bad way – more like they have matured, grown up. “And you’ve found her!” Fili exclaims giving you a wide grin. “Hello, Y/N. Long time no see.”

 

His grin falls when his eyes find Frerin, who is slowly stirring in Thorin’s arms, opening his blue eyes. You can almost see Fili’s brain working, making the connection, doing the math, and then his eyes widen. “No way!” he says. “Is that who I think it is?”

 

You smile. In the past few weeks, you’ve already smiled more than in all the months before that combined. “I’m afraid you’re no longer the crown prince, Fili.” you say. “Meet your cousin, Frerin, son of Thorin.”

 

To your surprise, he doesn’t seem the slightest bit disappointed. Instead, he grins and wraps you in a bear hug. Kili follows suit and suddenly you find yourself almost crushed by two dwarven princes. You can barely breathe and you’re laughing and crying at the same time, but you don’t mind.

 

You’re happy. You’re home.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that day, you’re lying on the impossibly comfy bed in Thorin’s private rooms, his arms wrapped around you from behind. Frerin is asleep in a beautifully crested crib in the corner that a maid brought earlier today, explaining that it is a family heirloom traditionally intended for the crown prince.

 

Thorin’s fingers are lazily drawing circles on your bare arm and you feel completely relaxed, almost boneless. His deep voice draws you from your blissful trance. “Do you remember the question I asked you before the battle?”

 

You remember all too well. It was, after all, the last time you spoke to each other before you thought you lost him. You don’t think you can ever forget that conversation.

 

_“If we survive all of this, Y/N… will you marry me?”_

_You gasp, taken aback by his question, but frankly you already know your answer. “Yes.” you say. “I will. But only if you promise you will come back to me.”_

_He smiles, but you can see the sadness in his eyes. “I promise.”_

_Then he kisses you. It is the last time you will ever kiss._

Abruptly, you snap back to the present. “Yes.” you whisper, turning so you’re facing Thorin. “I remember.”

 

He leans forward and places a soft, gentle kiss on your lips before he says: “I wondered if your answer would still be the same.”

 

You smile. Mahal, how you love this man. “You mean if I still want to marry you?”

 

Thorin nods. “I love you, amralime, more than anything. And you already gave me the greatest gift you possibly could, our son, but I want to be a real family. I want you to be by my side through everything, good and bad, happiness and sadness. So…” He reaches behind him and suddenly he’s holding a ring. It’s beautifully crafted and there’s a huge sapphire in the middle, shining brightly in the candlelight illuminating the room.

 

“Will you do me the honor of becoming my queen, Y/N?” he asks.

 

“Of course I will.” you say, tears of pure bliss burning in your eyes. You feel like you’re bursting with happiness when he slides the ring on your finger and kisses you, kisses you like there’s no tomorrow.

 

He makes love to you that night, quietly and slowly and gently, and under his touch you feel yourself come alive, finally emerging from that long, cold dark into the light.

 

* * *

 

 

You daughter is born two years later in a bedchamber in Erebor. This time, when the pain overwhelms you, you press Thorin’s hand as hard as you can and he whispers soothing Khuzdul words to you until the pressure eases and you can breathe again.

 

When the healer places your daughter in your arms, you cry, but this time they are happy tears. There are tears glinting in your husband’s eyes as well.

 

“She looks like you.” he whispers. “I love you so much, Y/N.”

 

You look up to him and let him kiss you, smiling against his lips. “I love you too.” you say.

 

Everything is well.


End file.
